In to Her

She dives in, like she hasn’t been face-fucked in years. And her eyes never close. She holds his stare. Tracks him like he is her god—or maybe just her monster.

He pulls out again and thrusts inside me and even though I agreed to this, I’m still getting a little pissed off at his arrogance.

So the next time he pulls out to fuck Yvette’s mouth, I slip two fingers under his balls and begin to stroke the soft skin just in front of his asshole.

“Shit,” he growls, gripping Yvette’s hair with both fists. Leaning in to her until her face is pressed up against his stomach.

I just smile and sneak a fingertip into his ass.

He stops for a moment. Just goes still.

See? Two can play this game, I muse.

My other hand pushes back on Yvette’s forehead, forcing Logan’s dick to slip out of her mouth. Then I push her forward again, but aiming her at his balls. She understands what I want, because both hands cup him as her head lowers and tilts underneath to take his balls in her mouth.

I let go of her head and take his cock in my hand, tugging and jerking on the slick shaft.

Logan goes still. He’s still gripping Yvette’s hair but he knows he just lost because he closes his eyes and lets his head roll back.

Game over, motherfucker.

I win.

He’ll come if I let him.

I’m not gonna let him. My plan has three phases and we’ve only covered two.

I stand up, one hand still sliding back and forth on his dick, the other playing with his ass as I lean over and kiss his mouth.

He responds, one hand letting go of Yvette so he can place it, palm-first, against my throat and choke me.

Go for it, I think. Give it all you’ve got, Logan. Because I sure am.

I almost black out, that’s how serious he is about maintaining control.

But he lets go just as the sparks and stars begin to flutter in front of my eyes.

He huffs out a laugh as we continue to kiss, thinking he’s won.

“You always were too sure of yourself,” I mutter into his mouth.

“And you always let me be,” he adds.

I reach down for Yvette’s hair. Pull on it a little. She looks up and both Logan and I break apart to look down at her.

God, she’s pretty. I saw it yesterday. Hell, there hasn’t been a moment I wasn’t admiring how beautiful she is. But right now, as she kneels at our feet gazing up at us with wide, willing, trusting eyes—it’s more than that.

She’s the one.

She. Is. The. One.

She gets us. And we get her.

And I mean that in two ways. She understand us and we understand her. And she literally… gets us. Gets to keep us both.

She stands up. The top of her head only comes up to about my chin, but just one tilt of her head and her lips are on Logan’s.

Perfection.

I step back and take a seat on the bench.

Phase three starts now.

Chapter Twenty-Nine – YVETTE

The whole experience feels a little… out-of-body.

A dream, or an illusion, or hey, maybe it just is what it is. The actualization of an erotic fantasy.

Either way… it has changed my mind about one thing.

Dying.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to give in or give up. Because I’m feeling things today that felt impossible just twenty-four hours ago.

For these men. For myself. For the past. For the future.

The fact that I’m actually contemplating a future is a huge swing in a totally opposite direction.

And Logan.

Let me be your monster.

I don’t know what that means, exactly. I just know it’s special. Somehow.

He will kill for me? He will die for me? He will love me? Protect me? I’m not sure.

Maybe all of that.

Or maybe he’s just being literal? He will be my monster. He will be my worst nightmare.

Before this moment I’d have gone with the latter. He will ruin my life. He seems capable of that.

But now I feel a change inside me. A hope, maybe. That he will unleash this monster that lives inside him on my behalf and make all the bad things disappear.

I want to believe that. I’m desperate to believe it. I just don’t know if this potential conviction is faith or a false promise.

All this runs through my mind as we kiss.

I’m kissing the monster. I’m in bed with him.

So… I guess I made up my mind.

Logan turns me around and pushes me against the tiled wall. It’s not cold, because the hot water has been falling down from the ceiling for a half hour or more by now. And the whole shower is filled with steam. But there is a temperature difference as my back hits the tiles. It’s that uncomfortable sting of cold you sometimes feel when something aches and you put an ice pack on it.